


Selene

by stealing_your_kittens



Category: The Storyteller (TV)
Genre: F/M, If you watched the show, No Warnings, and got the more "adult" stuff, they aren't even mentioned by name and only hinted at, though Selene has some pretty bad traumas, you can safely read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealing_your_kittens/pseuds/stealing_your_kittens
Summary: In Fearnot, the Storyteller mentions "the second son of the second cousin of my second wife's second niece," this is the story of the second wife.





	1. Selene

**Author's Note:**

> In Fearnot, The Storyteller mentions "the second son of the second cousin of my second wife's second niece," which isn't really the sort of relationship one would care enough to remember from a marriage that only lasted a year. So, I did a bit of headcanoning and timeline pondering, using what little we know of his backstory, and came up with this. What follows is purely conjecture based on known canon.
> 
> Storytelling isn’t just any other job, one must apprentice for it, and it comes with “a little magic, and a trick or two,” mainly useful for holding an audience (or conning them), and a slightly extended lifespan. In The Witch Baby comic, he tells the dog that he was a young man seeking his fortune, and by that he meant slightly middle-aged by human standards but barely out of college by Storyteller standards, because learning even a little magic must take years. And being so relatively young and inexperienced as measured by his chosen profession, he has to take any old job he can get. Which is how he ends up working in the stables of a castle, storytelling being only a sideline used to entertain the shy little prince, instead of paid work.
> 
> After circumstances force him out, he spends some time wandering and building up his own reputation as a Storyteller, but he's still working his way up the ladder when we come to A Story Short. (Imagine, at this point, he's starting to look a bit like the fourth picture here http://i.imgur.com/MJTEYQf.png, and being taken more seriously due to simply _looking_ wiser.) With the lines of reality so blurred, here...Did he dream it? But, if so, what was it about the beggar that so enchanted the wife? I've chosen to keep it vague, myself, but it's definitely the sort of thing I could see someone having recurring nightmares about. The bit with the hounds wasn't made up by me, but rather taken from the series novelization.
> 
> And, finally, we come to this story. Having left yet another castle, he goes back to wandering. Because what better way to collect stories than by traveling and exchanging them? But money never lasts long on the road, unless you had an unending supply to start with.

_"Did I ever tell you how I met my second wife?”_  

 _The dog looked up in surprise, personal stories from his master being a rarity. The Storyteller reclined back in his chair, hands laced comfortably over his belly and prominent nose pointed at the ceiling._  

 _“No. Is it a good story?”_  

_“Not a very exciting one,” he answered, smiling a little to himself. “But romantic. The quiet sort of romance that sneaks up on you.” The Storyteller didn't often speak of his second wife, as she'd been gone near a decade, now, but they’d met on a bitterly cold night not so unlike this one and the howling wind carried her memory back sharp as a nail. He longed to speak of her, to conjure her back to himself in some small way._

_“Was she pretty?”_

_“Oh, yes, quite a lovely. Brown-haired and pale, like the first signs of Spring earth through the snow. Eyes like the ocean and lips like rose petals.” She had also been lush of bosom and plump of hip, but he spared the dog those details as he was unlikely to be interested in the sort of things that delighted a human husband. “Her features were rather ordinary, but she knew how to make men forget that. There were exactly twenty freckles on her cheeks and across her nose. I counted once.” It was a summer morning, a few days before they married, he counted her freckles and woke her with a kiss and a proposal “She was a dancer...”_  

Even the best Storytellers will find themselves destitute from time to time, and he was no exception. That all too brief year with the king having come to an end and his funds lasting only a few months more, The Storyteller again found himself wandering, penniless and wifeless, through the bitter cold; miles from any hope of bread and bed. Still he pushed onward, for freezing to death in the middle of nowhere was a most inglorious way to go. And who would there be to tell _his_ story?

Rupert- for so had he been called by his mother- had always been a clever fellow, and he was certain he'd land on his feet if he could only find shelter, though said feet were too frozen to take another step. It was then, like a blessing, he smelled the smoke. After all, where there's smoke, there's fire. And very possibly food.

_“And sitting by the fire, when I found it, there was a woman...”_

“Begging your pardon, ma'am,” Rupert called, “But might I warm myself at your fire?”

“Oh!” The woman raised her head quickly, like a startled bird. “Are you an honest man, sir? A gentleman?” She had a small knife sheathed to her garter that would keep him so, if he were not. A hard lesson, well learned.

“An honest man, a gentleman and looking to take _no_ advantage.” If he used his power against her, it was only enough to soothe her obvious fear and save his own life. Rupert couldn't feel too guilty about it when he knew his intentions were strictly honorable.

“Very well,” she beckoned him near. “You are welcome, then, to share my fire, my food, and my _chaste_ company.”

“Grateful for all three, I'm sure.”

There wasn't anything to sit on, apart from her own blanket, but she allowed him with a great deal of caution and offered a bit of bread and cheese from her bag.

“It's all I have,” she said, “but there's a village a day's walk from here, where I hope to ply my trade.”

“What trade might that be?”

“An honest one,” she answered sharply. “I'm a dancer, and you may be sure I stay  _on_ my feet.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Rupert assured her hastily, “merely curious.” Breaking the bread in half, he gave the cheese a good smushing in between and held it nearer to the fire. “Haven't got a toasting fork, have you?”

“Yes, actually.” She peered into her bag, finding it to be near the top as she'd used it herself only moments ago. “And what trade do you ply, my curious fellow?”

“A fellow entertainer,” Rupert answered, spearing his impromptu sandwich and bringing it back to the fire so that the cheese began to drip. “I am a teller of stories, a weaver of dreams, and...” his eyes twinkled with merry mischief, “much less honest when I need to be, but always harmless.”

“It's rare to meet a harmless man,” but the dancer was smiling, despite the words.

It had certainly been awkward, that first night, huddling near the fire with their backs to each other; a man romantically wounded -for no matter how much good the beggar had done, it still stung that he’d stolen Rupert’s wife in the bargain- and a woman rightfully suspicious of all men. She'd made no secret of the knife, spending the entire night with it clutched in her hand, but despite her suspicions she found his company pleasant enough that they continued traveling together and it gradually became second nature to wrap themselves around each other on nights they couldn't find lodging.

_“What was her name,” Dog asked, pulling Rupert from his reverie._

_“Selene.” The name was breathed out reverently, savoring the sibilant and subtly drawing out the middle vowel. “ Or so she told me, and if she’d been given another I certainly never knew it.” He shrugged, not grieving the potential loss of something he'd never known even though he’d often suspected her of choosing the well-fitting name for herself. “Pale as the moon, herself, driving men mad with desire.” His voice fell, naturally, into its lowest register on the words, a tinge of the old lust carried in them. In the flickering firelight, he could almost see her shadow on the wall; the unbound waterfall of hair whipping behind her as she spun, the motion lifting the rainbow patchwork skirt to reveal firm calves. There was a kind of spell cast on her by the beat of a drum, a magic that transferred to her twisting hips and captured the heart of any man who looked. “I nearly fell victim, myself, the first time, but the secret to any good trick is to keep your audience in the dark. And I had already seen behind the curtain…”_

Rupert had realized early on he traveled with two very different women, albeit sharing one body. The first was his road companion, a sensible woman who wore her long hair bound into a braid and tied back with a scarf. An unflattering, ridiculously over-sized straw hat kept her pale face and neck protected from the sun. This woman joked and laughed, sparkling with life and merriment, occasionally striking his arm if his own jokes tended too far towards the ribald. He'd seen her snort water up her nose, choking on giggles.

The second woman was the dancer. Before entering a tavern, he and Selene always nipped 'round to the back where he watched a transformation taking place. Without the aid of a mirror, she smudged her lips red and her eyes dark; long practice giving her the skills to do it perfectly every time. Nimble fingers made short work of her long braid, fluffing and combing until it fell in soft waves around her hips. Then came the part that always made him look away, more for the sake of her modesty than his, as Selene untied the string of her blouse and lowered the neckline to almost indecent levels, leaving her pale shoulders bare. And the part that made him laugh silently so as not to offend; watching her hop around on one foot while removing her shoes one at a time, just long enough to dispense with her practical, dark woolen stockings. In less than five minutes, he was facing a complete stranger and all signs of the woman he knew were tucked safely away in her bag.

“Aren't you cold,” he asked the first time, watching her refasten her cloak with shaking fingers.

“Freezing, but I'll warm up quick enough inside. Besides, men buy the illusion: the temptress whose blood runs so hot she doesn't feel the cold.” It was something she'd learned in the early days of wandering, watching a deeply-tanned blonde spin and flirt, flipping her skirt to show shapely ankles. Coins had showered the woman from all directions and it was easy to see at a glance that she'd eat well while Selene's efforts at cooking would only earn her the scraps of the meal she'd prepared with her own hands. Thereafter, she'd watched and practiced when no one was looking. Her first forays into entertainment didn't bear thinking about, though it was doubtful even in the same towns the awkward creature she had been would be recognized in her dancing now.

As they came to the front of the building, her very walk changed into a swaying saunter. The dancer was a woman of few words, scarce paying any mind to him because her attention must be divided amongst all men. When she laughed it was low and throaty. He didn't much care for that woman, but she had her audience and knew how to play to them the same as he did. In that, they were alike.

 _(“Though later, of course, she found a thousand little ways to let me know I had no reason to fear any others stealing_ **_her_ ** _heart.” A hand brushing against his back as she spun past, a smile or a wink thrown his way when no one else could see._

 _“Did she ever dance just for you_ _? Without a crowd, I mean.”_

 _“Quite often, in a manner of speaking.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, though the meaning was lost on the dog. The nature of the game they played with each other was much different than the games they played with an audience. When she danced for him -or, rather, with him- the two of them usually ended_ **_off_ ** _their feet. Rupert was not ashamed to admit that more often than not, he made his voice into the tune that moved her. After all, it was her own admission that alerted him to the power he could hold over her with only a little change in pitch and tone, without even a drop of magic. Her own invitation, that is to say. )_

And so they journeyed on, days turning to weeks to months to one year. Before the end of the first summer, Selene had successfully lured three raccoons and a wild rabbit to her side; always letting them go after a bit of petting. The rabbit, in particular, made him nervous for its well-being with the creature being so close in kin to a hare. He watched warily as she lured it up, waiting for the moment when she must surely seize it for their supper. Not that he objected to a rabbit stew, but there were memories of snapping hounds closing on his heels and he cringed in sympathy. Instead of trapping the poor thing, Selene stretched herself flat in the grass and reached out a slow hand until she could stroke the back of one ear; a smile stretched across her lips and a silent giggle shaking her frame. Rupert sighed in relief when the creature hopped away and Selene only waved cheerfully after it. 

That night, however, saw the return of the nightmare of harried hare and hungry hounds. As always, he leapt for the safety of his wife's arms only to find himself betrayed and swaying upside down over the dogs' snapping jaws. But tonight, something was different. There was salvation nearby, if he could only find it. He looked up, eyes falling on Selene as she held out her arms and beckoned him. A struggle and a kick and he was free, racing for her, and as soon as he leaped she caught him up and snuggled him close to her breast. 

“Poor thing,” she murmured, the words echoing oddly as they sometimes do in dreams, “You don't like those games,” and with a whirl of rainbow skirts she carried him safely through the gate and out of the garden, dropping a little kiss between his long ears. It was at that moment he found himself transformed into a man again, and drew her into his arms so that he might kiss her lips. He woke confused, certain for a moment he was back in the dream with her arms wrapped so tight around him.

“Are you alright now,” Selene asked sleepily.

“Yes,” he answered, sleep-fogged, “Of course. Did-did I disturb you?”

She hummed a noncommittal reply, gave him one last squeeze and turned onto her back, almost instantly asleep again. A little more alert, he settled on his side, facing her, a little smile teasing at the corners of his mouth as the knowledge wrapped itself around his heart and he made so bold as to trace the air over her cheek.

_“One year turned into another, and a third, and I loved her a little more each day, though always in silence.”_

 “I didn't really care for that ending,” she said one night after listening to Sapsorrow for the tenth time. She was tired, worn thin at the heart from seeing that man in the crowd who so much resembled Frederick. Handsome, perfect Frederick who had eyes only for her beautiful younger sister -long married while Selene remained a spinster- but settled for taking any and all hope away from the plain elder one.

“You always cry,” he answered, miffed at finding himself criticized, the blazing summer evening leaving him feeling sticky and irritable as they made their way back to the hayloft they'd been granted for the night. Did _he_ tell _her_ when she had missed a step?

“Of course I cry! I find it bittersweet and you know how I love that.”

“But?” Eyebrows raised, he waited expectantly; impatiently.

“He was reluctant, you said it yourself. For all his talk about how he'd recognize her in rags, when she stood before him wearing the blasted shoe he _still_ only saw the straggletag.” Men were so much the same, even in stories. They liked the artifice of beauty but show them a woman at her ugliest and most vulnerable and they'd run screaming if she didn't pretty up quick enough.

“But he was honorable,” Rupert defended.

“Oh, yes, how nice. Suppose she was forced to remain the straggletag after marriage. Would he have still loved her?”

“Of course he would!”

“Doubtful,” she snorted.

“I suppose you would like it,” Rupert began, aggravation clear, “if he'd gone down to the kitchen and knelt at the feet of the creature to declare his eternal devotion!” Now he thought about it, that _would_ make for a sweeter love story, but pride held him back from conceding the point.

“Perhaps I would,” Selene shot back. “She told him exactly where to find her, if he'd ever bothered to actually listen. But, no. Show a man something beautiful and he forgets to pay attention to anything else about her.”

“It certainly caught his eye, I won't deny that, but it wasn't her beauty he fell in love with.”

“What was it, then? He wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea that the ugly sister might have been the one.”

“Well, it was obvious, don't you think? At least give him credit for recognizing that much.”

“I'll give him no credit at all, it was too simple. Of course someone ugly couldn't possibly be so good, or worthy of his love, or...or...Ugh!” And she stomped on ahead of him, effectively ending the conversation.

As for Rupert, he didn't bother closing the distance between them. Instead, he trailed behind her, fuming, and when he finally caught up to her and climbed into the loft he slept as far from her as possible. It wasn't until the morning, when he woke before her and looked at her lying there plain and freckle-faced, her braid mussed in all directions, that he realized exactly _what_ the problem might be. Selene shifted, turning her face too far into the straw and snuffling in her sleep at the tickle. He repressed a chuckle, little fish swimming up and down his back.

He watched her carefully as they went back into the tavern for breakfast. He observed the men, too, who had all clamored so enthusiastically the night before. It was obviously the same woman, you could tell that from the dress alone, but not one of them spared her a second glance now she was free from cosmetics and puffy-eyed from sleep.  

By mid-afternoon, when the sun had climbed high, Selene still refused to speak. It wasn’t an angry silence so much as an uncomfortable one. And it was completely intolerable. “Do you really believe yourself so unattractive,” he asked, catching her arm and pulling her to a stop.  

Selene stumbled, her furiously fast stride having come to an unexpected halt. Embarrassed at having been caught out, she refused at first to meet his gaze.“Not ugly, perhaps,” she conceded at last, when it became obvious he intended to keep her there until she answered, “but certainly plain. A little flesh, a little paint, and they forget that. But my cheeks are too round, my nose unremarkable...and how many freckle-faced temptresses _are_ there in stories?” Her eyes lifted to give him a knowing look, as if she expected him to agree this last was impossible.

“Oh, I could tell you about _one_ ,” Rupert answered slyly, making no secret of the way his eyes roamed. Fools, the lot of them, if they lost interest when the fantasy ended.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the smile, but nothing could prevent the blush. “You deplorable, shameless flirt!”

But he already knew no true offense had been given, as more and more often lately their banter toyed with an invisible line between friendly and flirtatious. “Absolutely deplorable,” he agreed with a grin, “and _entirely_ shameless.” He leaned closer, voice dropping just a bit lower at this last.

She laughed, the sound somewhere between her true giggles and the seductress of the taverns, and gave him a gentle shove back; stepping around him with a deliberate sway so that her hip brushed his in passing. The fish grew more lively and he felt a bit like water on the boil; too hot and bubbling all over.

“Shall I tell you what he loved most about her?”

“ _Not_ her beauty?” The words were sarcastic, but lacking in bite.

“Oh, no,” Rupert caught her again, looping their arms together. Selene allowed it for the worst of her anger had passed, then. “She definitely had that, but what he loved most,” a subtle something changed in his voice, shifting into the hypnotic tone he used to hold an audience. Selene shot him a troubled glance, well aware of the spell he was weaving. “What he loved _most_ was her laughter, her soft, _horrible_ singing, the patient way she coaxed wild things to her side...”

“Rupert...” It alarmed her to hear it, the thing she suspected anyway, spelled out so plainly, but his voice lulled her into listening as he'd known it would.

“...the sparkle of sunlight in her hair,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “He knew what made her cry, what made her smile, and because he loved her, even knowing her favorite flavor of jam became a privilege.”

“What was it,” she asked breathlessly.

“Strawberry, and she'd settle for raspberry but never grape.”

That was entirely too specific to be anything but what it was. Rupert walked beside her as calmly as someone who _hadn't_ just confessed to loving her, and it was so undemanding, that confession. He didn't paw and try to kiss her like the men in the taverns, or make grand, sweeping declarations as Frederick had done, laced with the insinuation that if she loved him, in turn, she would surrender herself to him. The arm holding hers was so common as to be comfortable and locked together so loosely she could flee if she chose. Instead of doing so, Selene sniffled quietly and wiped hastily at her eyes. No confession of her own was forthcoming, but doubtless he knew. He knew and understood at least a little of what held her back.

_“The year turned again, the earth died and was reborn, and one night we celebrated a good day's work with a bottle of fairy wine. I had won it in a game, the last thing the fellow had to wager; but, frankly, I'd never been inclined to mercy with the dice even before my little misadventure. Take it all or the other bloke will.”_

Fairy wine is a potent drink, red as rubies and sweet as honey, one glass will go to the head of even the most experienced lush. The two of them passed the bottle back and forth, and less than a quarter was gone before both were well-past tipsy. The evening was pleasantly warm, and while Selene had braided her hair again her shoulders were still bare in deference to the heat. The awful hat had been laid to the side when the sun disappeared, her hand resting just on the crumpled brim of it.

“I love to dance,” she told him, the words coming out just a little bit too slow. “Not the men,” she made a dismissive gesture, “just the dancing. I'm very good at it.”

To prove her point, she clambered awkwardly to her feet; clapping arrhythmically and stamping her right foot slightly out of time. Having sufficiently counted out a beat, she spun madly towards the edge of the blanket and back again, braid whipping behind her. Her clumsy feet wrinkled the cloth as she went, until finally tangling with it entirely. The unfortunate placement of the hat prevented her from catching her balance and Selene pitched forward, arms flailing awkwardly. Rupert lunged, catching her around the hips and pulling her backward into his lap before she could tumble face first into the small cooking fire.

“You'll set yourself alight,” he warned, but it was still the funniest thing he had ever seen.

Selene relaxed back against him, one arm dangling to the side and the other holding hostage the arm still around her waist. She felt pleasantly lethargic, but much too warm and that was entirely his fault. “You do that,” she muttered, turning her face to his neck so that the words tickled his skin.

The fish, never far away anymore, began a leisurely swim. He set her away from him a bit more forcefully than intended, making her huff indignantly.

“My wife loved to dance.” He hadn't intended to say that. They had never spoken at length about past romantic entanglements. He knew there had been a man and she knew there had been a wife. But the alcohol had apparently rendered him maudlin for he suddenly wished nothing more than to pick at old wounds. And out the whole story tumbled before he could stop it.

“...She just left? With the beggar?”  Selene could vaguely feel there was something...off...about the way she said that, but the words felt fuzzy on her heavy tongue. Rupert himself was a little blurry, the fire casting wiggly shadows on his face. “Tha' was mean,” she declared loudly. Swaying forward, she poked him in the chest and giggled when she nearly toppled from her kneeling position. “Because you're nice.”

“Well, after all, she was under a powerful enchantment.” He took another healthy swig from the bottle, sputtering indignantly when it was suddenly snatched away.

“You should have tried to break it!” Selene held the bottle just out of reach of his grasping hands, her mood gone suddenly judgemental. So dishonorable to leave his wife spellbound and wandering after dishonest men. Husbands and fathers were meant to protect, though it was no surprise to find that the former failed as easily as the latter. Fathers had a tendency to cast out dishonored spinsters, why shouldn't husbands leave their wives to wandering?

“You're misunderstanding me,” he declared, looking decidedly martyred as he gave up on the bottle for now, “it was only love. We didn't have that,” Though he’d thought, perhaps…”Only amni-ability...amibly...amiabily...We liked each other.” The word 'amiability' simply refused to come to him and Rupert frowned into the darkness as though it were somehow withholding the word on purpose.

“I thought I had True Love, once,” Selene said morosely, tipping up the bottle and downing far more than her fair share, but hers was also a sad story and she'd earned it. “But in the end, he only wanted my virtue. Not even _mine_ , really. I look enough like my sister in the dark, I guess.” She sniffled, handing the bottle back to Rupert and drawing her knees into her chest as she told her own story of the man who had asked too much. (The men who hadn’t asked, he was to learn about much later, as well as the helpful witch who gave her a potion to weed out what had been planted the first time and ensure it never happened again.) “Men are always the same,” she concluded. “They never care.”  

Despite the words, when Rupert held out an arm to comfort her, she took the offer and curled up against him; the hand on her shoulder resting on naked skin. He took his turn with the bottle, drinking more than he should in the name of justice (for he'd noticed what Selene had done) and with a vain hope of drowning those slippery fish. Certainly, he had no qualms about touching her naked skin, he'd touch much more of it if allowed; but he wasn't and so must keep himself in check.

“Some of us are hon'rable, but not cads. Cads...aren't. He was a cad.” More and more words were slipping from him, eloquence lost half a bottle ago.

“You're not.” Did that come out right? “Not a cad, I mean.” Rupert was nice. Funny-looking, but nice. Lovely nose, twinkly eyes. Selene adored ruffling his hair until the flaming red stood up in all directions, just for the put-upon way he looked when she did. (She liked the touches of smoke at the temples, though she'd kept that part well enough to herself.) She should have met him sooner, then Frederick couldn't have taken her virtue and marriage prospects with it. Rupert wasn't a cad, he'd have married her.

Boldness fueled by wine, it was the most natural thing in the world to take the nearly empty bottle from him and toss it away, ignoring his noises of protest at the waste. “Kiss me,” she ordered.

Sober, Selene might not have ever asked at all. And if his own head weren't so muddled, Rupert probably would have refused the drunken offer. But since both were well and truly on their way to plastered, he did as she asked. It was a clumsy thing, his nose bumped hers and they both giggled. Finally -after another failed attempt and more giggling, unable to look at each other for a moment- they sorted themselves out; Selene pushing insistently at his shoulders until he fell back onto the blanket, taking her with him. The robe he’d folded up to use as a pillow provided insufficient cushioning when they landed, but neither of them were terribly bothered about it.

Here, too, clumsiness thwarted them when it came to laces and buckles and bows, and in the end it was simpler to merely shove aside skirts and breeches. Their shadows merged into one, dancing with the flames, and they laughed and loved until the wine-sleep overcame them. Morning found Selene still sprawled half atop him, one leg tucked up across his hips.

“Did we,” Selene asked, wincing at the sunlight piercing her eyes before she quickly shut them again..

“I think so.” Rupert wisely kept his own eyes shut. "Is that alright?"

“Yes, perfectly.” Selene smiled and snuggled herself more comfortably against him, pressing a little kiss to the side of his neck. The memories of the night before were probably forever lost to her, but she could, at least, be certain that her companion had been equally muddled and would never have taken anything not freely given.  

_“And two weeks later, I asked her to marry me,” he concluded, smiling to himself at the memory._

(….Eighteen...Nineteen...Twenty...Twenty freckles, exactly. His index finger hovered just shy of brushing her skin, the terribly funny idea of tickling her nose crossing his mind and being discarded just as quickly. No need to have her come awake swatting a fly that wasn’t there and tweaking his own nose in revenge. That bit was only funny the first time. Instead, he let his hand drop to stroke her cheek, light as a feather, and when she stirred, more aware of her surroundings, he pressed the tiniest kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Marry me?”

“Buh-whuh,” she replied inelegantly, groping for the blankets and pulling them up as much as possible with him in the way. Then his words registered, her eyes popping open in surprise before drifting shut again. “Ask me again when I’m awake,” she yawned, the straw mattress rustling as she turned her back to him. “I’ll probably say yes.”)

_“So let me see if I understand,” Dog answered, “you got drunk, kissed her and then got married?”_

_“Something like that.” For, indeed, he had omitted a few details that his mind had filled in with perfect clarity. And he'd left out quite a bit of what followed; the unspoken question hanging in the sober air the next night, the returned awkwardness as they lay down to sleep before both asked “do you want to...” And the answer obviously being yes, they giggled their way through again. It was rare they didn't laugh together in bed; he was very ticklish._

" _Did she ever see her family again?”_

" _Her sister Rosemary, certainly, as_ ** _she’d_ **_never done Selene any actual harm. One visit and one letter each way every year. To my knowledge, she never troubled herself about their parents.”_

_“What happened to her?”_

_“Time,” The Storyteller answered sadly. Storytellers are unusually long-lived, so that they might witness the beginning of many legends. That isn't always true of their spouses, unless they marry one of their own. He’d last another half century, at least._

_She'd barely started her fourth decade when they met, several years younger than him -two and thirty, if memory served-, but age had eventually caught up. When she could no longer move men with her dancing, they settled in one place for awhile and he kept a shabby roof over their heads._

_“There came a day when she didn’t wake, as I’d known she wouldn't…”_

“Did I ever tell you the story of The Grovelhog? Hans, he was called. I was there for a bit of that one…”

For just a moment, Selene turned her head in his direction and her glazed eyes, still bright as an ocean in sunlight, met his own with unexpected clarity. _I know,_ the exasperated look said, _I was, too, and scared to death, remember?_ (She’d sliced her finger peeling a potato when word reached the kitchens that her husband had been arrested, and carried the scar forever after. Oh, the scolding he had gotten upon his release, when she wanted to run and he wanted to stay and see how it would all play out. He’d won that one, but for a week he’d had a _very_ unhappy wife.)

His voice, already tired from talking half the day, stuttered to a surprised halt. Since morning, when she’d been unable to rise from their bed, Rupert had sat beside her, moving only to try in vain to offer her food or drink. The whole time he kept up a one-sided conversation: told her favorite stories, sang her favorite songs and none of it able to call her mind back to him. It was unfair, having only fifty years to know a person, when there was always more to say; more to learn. It was nearly three in the afternoon and his throat was tired from talking, but he dared not leave her long enough for even a cup of soothing tea.

“I’ll miss you,” she rasped, closing her eyes as he leaned over to kiss her forehead, painfully aware this was goodbye.

Then he kept talking. All through the night, he watched her closely, hopelessly, for any sign of improvement. And all the while talking and talking and talking. Just before sun up, his voice failed altogether. Rupert tried in vain to push out even one more syllable, managing only a hoarse puff of air. It was in that moment, Selene, who had never opened her eyes again, stilled completely; her hand going limp in his. Fitting, then, that she who had so much of himself had stolen a piece of him to take with her into eternity.

As a child, he'd saved a fairy and been gifted a wish. He'd wasted it not long after on getting himself out of a youthful scrape. And no amount of wishing for that wish would bring it back, though sitting there by her side he tried his hardest. He would have traded eternity for the return of even one second; the crinkle of her nose, her elbow in his back when she grew restless in the night, her cold feet chasing his own warm ones across the bed, the brush of her eyelashes against his neck...But his wish and his wife were both gone forever.

Rupert left town not long after her burial, unable to bring himself to stay in a house full of memories and a village full of people who gazed at him with too much sympathy; keeping the pain forever fresh. The only memento he took was a ridiculously oversized hat to shield his face from the sun, the rest he sold to finance the beginning of his renewed travels.

_"She was lovely, but fleeting like all lovely things.” He sighed thoughtfully. “But I suppose we'd appreciate true beauty less if it went on forever.”_

_The dog, in deference to his master's melancholy mood, moved closer to lay his head on Rupert’s knee in silent comfort._

_Rupert smiled absently at him, but his eyes were focused unseeingly into the fire. Someday, before he followed her into the afterlife, he'd fashion a story for her. Selene would be a legend in her own right; an otherwordly beauty with magic in her dancing feet. A moonbeam, perhaps?_

_Her story must be absolutely perfect; simple and easy to recall, yet elegant in its simplicity. He couldn’t go on forever, and what good was a story no one else wanted to tell? It should tug at the heartstrings, make one swoon and sigh, so that they wanted to hear it over and over and every telling would be a love song to make her memory dance forever in their minds._

_Settling himself more comfortably in his chair, one hand scratching Dog’s ears, Rupert’s breathing gradually evened out into a peaceful sleep; his hand slowing to a stop as he dreamed of moonbeams dancing on a lake._


	2. The Lost Moonbeam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple love story becomes a fairy tale.

_The Moon has many daughters, all of them silvery-pale and lovely, like herself, and shining brightly with the light of their father, The Sun. And Moonbeams love to dance. Oh, yes, never doubt it. You’ve seen them, yourself, darting in and out of the clouds, shimmering and rippling in the water...flirting with the Stars. They were made for each other, you see, Moonbeams and Stars._

_One night, a handsome young man was journeying home through the woods. An unwise thing, certainly, but he had his gun and his knife and no fear of any animals that might cross his path. If only something as harmless as a bear had crossed his path! Alas for him, he was to meet something **far** more dangerous. Above him, the clouds parted and there, in the clearing where he stopped to rest, hundreds upon thousands of beautiful women suddenly shimmered and shone, spinning and skipping this way and that with their silver hair, silver skin and sparkling silver gowns._

_Now, as we all know, the moon will drive a man mad. What very few know, is that those beauties really can’t help it. Moonbeams are the most pure things in the entire universe and such mischief isn’t in their nature; humans simply aren’t able to cope with so much beauty all at once. The sheer, indescribable majesty of them is enough to destroy even the strongest mind. So, you can see how this young man, being more strong of body than mind, was ill-prepared for the moment when one of them flitted too close, her hand brushing his._

_He was in love, instantly, or thought he was. Never had a woman seemed to him so perfect. And the man, driven quite mad and fancying himself equal to this celestial royalty -for he **was** quite a handsome thing to behold, or so I’ve heard- made so bold as to court this shimmering princess; Phoebe, I’ll call her, though her true name was Bright, but they were all of them called Bright. (It gets very confusing to human ears.)_

_Phoebe would have none of it, of course, being already given in marriage to a Star, and danced away from him without a second thought. Her sister, on the other hand -Selene, I’ll call her- was as yet free and greatly moved by his declarations to her unmoved kin. So, the next night, while all her sisters were shimmering about on a lake, Selene crept in through the handsome man's window and shone across his bed._

_The next morning, when their father came ‘round, shining his light lovingly on all of them, there was no hiding the thing Selene had done, for unworthy hands can’t help stealing a little brightness from that which they’ve no right to touch. The Sun was_ **_furious_ ** _, ready to cast her out without a second thought had The Moon not interceded, pleading mercy for her child._

 _"Very well,” Sun agreed. “I will show her this leniency: since she has seen fit to sully herself with mortals, she may return after her own death_ **_if_ ** _,” He stressed the word, certain it was an impossibility, “and only if, she finds True Love on Earth.”_

_Selene was ecstatic. Certainly these conditions had already been met, for hadn’t her dear one spent the previous night whispering words of love in her ear? She’d have a happy life on Earth and return home at the end, though she refrained from gloating about this fact in the face of her father’s anger. Didn’t seem wise._

_Ah, but, my dearie-o’s, it’s rarely as simple as that, is it? That night, Selene said her goodbyes and touched down on the earth in a mortal body for the first time. An odd thing, certainly, to one used to gliding along lighter than air. Even in human form, she had still sparkled with unmistakable radiance and now look at her; stumbling along with feet too heavy, hair the color of dirt and silver skin dulled to white._

_Appallingly clumsy and wearing the dullest of rags, Selene was nonetheless hopeful when she stumbled out of the woods and up to her beloved's front door. Her True Love would know her no matter what her form. She knocked with a light heart and graced him with her most radiant smile when the door opened._

_Alas for our girl, he_ **_didn’t_ ** _know her, and took her for a common strumpet who’d come trying to make a claim on him. And the cruelest bit of all, even if he_ **_had_ ** _recognized Selene underneath the dirt and scratches, he would have mistaken her easily for Phoebe -for all of the sisters looked a great deal alike to human eyes-, and_ **_still_ ** _would not have loved her in this ordinary form, for she was lacking the blinding shimmer which had so entranced him in the first place._

_(One could almost pity him, for he spent the rest of his life incapable of loving anything less than their perfection. But he was too convinced of deserving it, and such vanity quickly turns pity into exasperation.)_

_Her poor ears ringing with his hurtful words, Selene went away in despair, her once light heart heavy with disillusion. Her love didn’t love **her** , and she was now doomed to wander the earth friendless, penniless, and defenseless against the monsters that prowled after women alone. It was a clever, heartless thing her father had done._

_Even in her reduced state, a Moonbeam will always be more beautiful than any human could ever hope to be. And though she didn’t sparkle as she once had, men called her dirt brown hair “silky chestnut,” and her dull skin “alabaster,” but they always tried to put their grasping hands on her when they spoke these sweet words. One succeeded, and stole a little more of her faded light. Selene began to wear a hat to shield her face during the day, for she couldn’t bear to think of her heartless father looking upon her shame. And when she was denied even that bit of radiance, she grew **very** dull, indeed. _

_It would have been so easy, in those early days, hurting and hungry and wretched, to simply give herself over to their cruelty. When her heavy mortal feet couldn’t take another step, her back weary from sleeping on the ground or under the stairs, always tired from watchfulness, it would have been far too easy to give in to their sweet lies and jingling coins for a full belly and a good night’s rest. What did it matter if they stole away all of her light, piece by piece, until there was nothing left? She’d find no True Love on Earth when her heart had hardened against all men._

_But, one rainy spring day, as she sat drenched and shivering under a tree, the most wonderful idea occurred to her. If she couldn’t find True Love, there, at least, was an opportunity for a more comfortable life. As the worst of the storm passed and The Sun returned to shine on the damp earth, Selene had spied an especially vibrant Rainbow not too far away. It wasn’t often her cousins were so easy to spot. Many times over since being banished, she’d catch a dim glimpse of them in a puddle, or glowing strongly but too far away. Today...Oh, if she hurried, she’d just catch them before they vanished again._

_She ran and ran, until she could run no more, and still she ran until she came to the Rainbow’s end. The Colors didn’t know her, at first, for certainly they had no cousin named Selene, but she spoke to them in the language of the Heavens, which she hadn’t spoken in so long her skills were a trifle rusty. But no mere human could ever hope to master it, and so The Colors listened, and believed._

_“Cousins,” she pleaded, “I am starving and cold and wretched, with no honorable way to feed or warm myself. If you would each give me only a little piece of your fine garments to protect myself, I could earn more -and honest- coins for bread and bed.”_

_The Colors were moved to pity at the sight of their poor cousin, and down fluttered hundreds upon thousands of brightly colored patches of the finest silk. Selene gathered them to her with a profusion of grateful cries, stuffing them into her knapsack and setting out for the nearest village where she hoped to earn enough for a needle, scissors and several spools of thread. It was a slow process, for princesses are rarely called upon to cook or clean, Moonbeams never, and Selene’s halfhearted efforts at both continued to yield very little reward. But, at last, with the work of another two years, the thing was done and she replaced her dull, tattered dress with a skirt and bodice of fine rainbow silk, her dingy blouse with one of pure, cloudpuff white._

_Now, the beauty which had been such a curse, could also be a blessing. Even in the clumsy early days of her mortality, Selene had not forgotten how to dance and when no one was watching she joined her sisters, though always condemned to be just a little apart from them. Fearing what would happen if any man should ever see her, she hadn’t indulged herself very often, but now, in fine silk stronger than any armor, Selene felt safe enough to allow it. A Rainbow was such a fleeting thing, her matching slippers would carry her easily out of reach before any of them could so much as brush her skirts._

_And so, Selene began to dance in the very same taverns where she’d labored so thanklessly for nearly ten years. With the hat which dulled her thrown aside, her beauty shone forth to draw her audience in, her moonbeam grace keeping them spellbound even as her rainbow garments kept her well away from their reaching, clawing hands. Overcome with the madness of desire, they were always most generous with their coins._

_E_ _ven with a full purse and a full belly and a door to lock at night, Selene never stayed in one place too long. A night here, perhaps two there to earn extra coins if her funds were low. She dared not stay, and risk her audience growing hostile. Men will only buy an untouchable fantasy for so long, as she’d learned early on._

_It was in the middle of this lonely wandering, in the dead of winter, that Selene met a fellow equally down on his luck; he’d spent his last coin not long before they found each other, and his wife had run off months ago with a clever beggar. But, nevermind all that, Rupert -for so had he been called by his mother- was a clever man, himself, and certain he’d land on his feet, despite his feet being too frozen to take another step._

_Before he could freeze to death, however, the welcome scent of smoke drifted to him on the howling wind and he let the smell lead him along by the nose until he found a roaring fire, and a beauty sitting next to it. As it happened, the beauty didn’t look too kindly on any man who crossed her path -with good reason- but Rupert had one advantage those others did not: he wasn’t, himself,_ **_entirely_ ** _human, and he could honestly present himself as having only the purest intentions. With a little of his own magic, he soothed her fears and Selene allowed him to share her food and fire. (Which was more than enough for him.)_

_In the morning, Rupert was amazed to wake and find quite a different woman already awake and preparing to leave. Still lovely, yes, but dulled somehow by the awful hat she was wearing. As they were going the same direction, it made perfect sense to travel together, and one day turned into another, and another, and in what felt like no time Selene had remembered how to laugh._

_And, of course, we all know how it goes in these sorts of stories. One wasn’t looking for love, the other had forgotten how, but having no designs on each other made her easier to talk to, and him easier to trust. Love, however, rarely cares what we have planned, and it wasn’t long before Rupert began to dislike the moment outside a tavern when Selene took off her hat, for once it was gone she transformed into a creature unnaturally graceful and radiant, and he couldn’t help being jealous and worrying that someone would steal what wasn’t even his to keep._

_An unfounded fear, as it turned out not one of those baying jackals looked twice at her in the daylight when she was just another woman. Selene grew increasingly melancholy and resigned about this as the years passed, for if she couldn’t return home she would fade into nothing, as all light fades. Of course, she was, herself, falling quite hard for her traveling companion, though fear of repeating past mistakes kept her silent on the matter._

_But, one night, as the two of them giggled together over a bottle of fairy wine that had been less-than-honestly acquired -for Rupert believed in making his own luck with the dice- the drink loosened their tongues and let old hurts bubble to the surface. It drowned Selene’s fears, as well as Rupert’s good judgement, so that morning found them hopelessly entangled forever._

_They were married soon after, and lived happily together for a good fifty years. Towards the end of her life, Selene’s beautiful chestnut hair changed to shining silver; the beginning of a transformation back into her true form and a sure sign she’d be welcomed home with open arms. On the morning Selene breathed her last, she promised Rupert she’d beg her father for a little magic, so that her beloved husband might become a Star and be with her for all eternity._

_And did he? Well, I’d certainly like to think he will, one day._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far after that overly lengthy intro, and if you're interested, here is the closest approximation I could get to Selene. http://i.imgur.com/Up6rbEA.png
> 
> Her skirt should be more a patchwork of all colors and fabrics, with no one dominant color, a kerchief tied "peasant style" around her hair and a huge straw hat, but you get the idea.
> 
> And as a dancer http://i.imgur.com/7IVsRd5.png
> 
> An old woman, happily domestic and occasionally working in castle kitchens http://i.imgur.com/87nQrI4.png
> 
> Moonbeam Selene http://i.imgur.com/NT7v6JQ.png
> 
> Finally, I would like to apologize for my very poor image linking skills. I tried, like, three times and got no link, so I gave up.


End file.
